


Presumed Dead (9th December)

by Razzamatazz



Series: 25 days of Steve and Bucky [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 1930s, Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:09:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2745422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razzamatazz/pseuds/Razzamatazz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It had been nearly two years since Steve had got the letter informing him that Bucky was missing in action and presumed dead. When he found out he didn’t cry. He just crawled up in a ball and stayed like that for a week, which of course meant that he lost his job. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was Bucky.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Presumed Dead (9th December)

**Author's Note:**

> First day of exams over! Only 7 more days to go!  
> This is the first 1930s one that I've done so let me know what you think, and if there's anything that you think I should write next let me know :)

Steve walked down the forlorn Brooklyn streets, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his scarf covering most of his face. The streets were practically deserted, everyone must have been out at their jobs or had the good sense to stay inside on the cold and foggy day. The quietness was deafening. Steve had noticed that everything had gotten a lot quieter since people had started to be called up. Since Bucky left. He shivered against the cold wind, and started to head home. The last thing he needed was to get ill. 

It had been nearly two years since Steve had got the letter informing him that Bucky was missing in action and presumed dead. When he found out he didn’t cry. He just crawled up in a ball and stayed like that for a week, which of course meant that he lost his job. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was Bucky. In the end Steve had forced himself to get out of the house and look for a job. Bucky hadn’t died defending their country just so that Steve could let himself starve to death. He managed to get a job from an old friend of Bucky’s who clearly felt sorry for Steve. He was a nice guy who kept Steve on even though Steve was bad at heavy lifting and needed to take a day off every once in a while to clear his head. This was one of those days. 

Steve let himself into the house and took a deep breath then let it out shakily. The house used to smell of a mix of Bucky and Steve’s paints, but now the only smell that greeted him was damp and dust. He had stopped painting when he heard about Bucky’s death. He just felt uninspired, like there was no point to painting, or in fact to anything. He shrugged off his coat and scarf and hung them over the balcony. As he walked through to the kitchen he paused to look at a photo of him and Bucky on a small table by the door, but pulled himself away when he felt tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. He put the kettle on and made himself a cup of tea, taking it through to the living room where he sat down on the beaten up couch. 

“Happy birthday, Buck,” Steve smiled weakly, suddenly feeling like his limbs were too heavy, even keeping his eyes open was proving to be difficult. He put the tea on the side and closed his eyes, sleep welcoming him into its arms.

Steve was startled awake a few hours later. At first he thought he had just woken himself up from a bad dream, but then he heard someone pounding desperately at the door. He dragged himself reluctantly off of the sofa to answer the door. 

“Alright! Alright! I’m coming!” he yelled as the hammering intensified. “What?” he shouted as he wrenched the door open aggressively, then felt his jaw hit the floor. Bucky’s lean figure was standing outside the door. He looked pale and like he hadn’t slept in years, but the unmistakable smile and gleam in his eyes assured Steve that it was very much Bucky. 

“Short version. Not dead,” Steve wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh, cry, or punch Bucky in the nose. He ended up doing none of those things and simply fainting instead.

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

When Steve woke up the first thing he saw was Bucky’s handsome face full of concern leaning over him and he nearly fainted all over again. Bucky’s face broke into a warm smile when he saw Steve open his eyes. Steve found himself unable to do anything but smile back, gazing up at Bucky’s face trying to memorize that smile so that he’d never have to go a day without it again. 

“Hey, you gave me quite a scare there punk,” Steve propped himself up on his elbows.

“I gave you a _scare_? Try stopping receiving letters from your best friend then finding out that he’s dead, now that’s a fucking scare! What the hell happened?” Steve spat, suddenly overtaken with rage. Bucky knelt back on his heels, looking shocked at Steve. They’d known each other their whole lives and he’d never once heard Steve swear. 

“It’s a long story, and I don’t know most of it. My unit was captured, I don’t know how long for, everything gets a little hazy after that, but then we were rescued and here I am,” Bucky held out his arms as if to say ‘tah-dah!’ He had skimmed over all the details, hoping that Steve wouldn’t ask about them. Bucky _had_ been telling the truth about everything being hazy, but he saw no reason to tell him _everything_ that happened and the experiments they did on him. None of that mattered now. He was home with Steve, where he should be. 

“I’ll get you a cup of tea,” Steve said, stumbling to his feet, visibly swaying as he stood up.

“Whoa there! You sit down, I’ll make the tea,” Bucky held Steve’s shoulders and pushed him gently but firmly down onto the couch. Steve opened his mouth to protest but the room was spinning, so he shut his mouth for fear of throwing up. Bucky emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of tea. He sat down on the couch next to Steve and passed him one of the mugs. 

Steve stared at Bucky, the realisation that he was actually there dawning on him. He studied Bucky’s movements and mannerisms, as if to make sure that it really was him. The way he tucked one of his feet underneath him as he sat, how he tapped his long thin fingers on the arm of the couch. Steve took a large swig of his tea. It was still too hot and it burned his mouth and throat, but he was too busy taking in Bucky to notice. 

“Bucky,” Steve said, causing Bucky to look over at him.

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” Steve said, blushing as soon as the words left his mouth.

“I love you too punk,” Bucky said going back to his tea.

“No, I mean I love you… like a guy loves a dame,” Steve stuttered, then closed the gap between them before Bucky could respond, kissing him softly and cautiously. Bucky’s mouth was slack beneath his and Steve was about to pull away before Bucky started kissing him back urgently, as if making up for lost time. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said when they pulled apart. “That was outta line. It’s just I love you Bucky, I have ever since we were kids. I couldn’t get up the nerve to tell you before you went to war and then I heard that you were dead and I thought I’d never get the chance to tell you,” Steve took in a shaky breath, not daring to look up at Bucky. “But I just can’t hide this anymore. I don’t care what anyone else thinks, the only thing that matters to me is what you think. I’ll understand if you hate me and never want to see me again,” he chanced a glance up at Bucky to see that his face was plastered with a soft smile. 

“I could never hate you, I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember,” Bucky reached out a hand to cup Steve’s face, Steve leaned into Bucky’s touch.

“That’s good,” Steve grinned at Bucky. “'Cause I'm with you 'til the end of the line.”


End file.
